Our visit this week was to South Carolina. We wanted to celebrate the birthdays of John’s sister Chris and husband Steve. We were planning on a long day of travel punctuated by lunch in their town, but they made it easy by offering to meet us halfway. Our arrival was within 15 minutes of each other. Requesting a quiet table, we settled in the back of Olive Garden and talked non-stop for two and a half hours. If there had been anything scintillating to relate, I wouldn’t write about it publicly. Don’t worry; you didn’t miss anything. We were interested in hearing about their latest trip, the things going on in their church, and family news. I meant to tell them that SC had decorated its interstates in pine trees and dogwoods, whereas Tennessee had redbud trees.
Our last stop on the college roommate tour was to see Carolyn and Jim. The last time we saw them was in a larger group. This time there were only four of us to chat. No matter what subject came up, we seemed to view it from the same angle. That’s amazing to me, since we lived in different areas of the country and didn’t see each other for decades.
Roommate, sophomore year
That is not to say it wasn’t exciting. Carolyn is a twin, and their triplet grandchildren were there with a guest for spring break. I’ve never been around so many multiples. As we drove into the farm, we saw the pre-teens in the pasture with three horses. A bit later the two girls were throwing a football The four had lunch quietly in the kitchen as we ate outside on the porch. Later it was fun watching them climb into hammocks high off the ground. I was impressed with their good manners and respect for our conversation.
There are four bodies in and among the hammocks. This was taken from the front porch.
I asked how Carolyn and Jim found the farm, and she said her grandfather bought it over a hundred years ago. I noticed an angel on a gatepost, and she said, “You must have missed seeing the large angel statues in the family graveyard. I took special note of them on the way out.
Carolyn showed me their wedding album, which I was thrilled to see. I think theirs was the only non-family wedding I was in as a bridesmaid. They married two years ahead of us. Carolyn disappeared into the house for a little while and served us big bowls of homemade chicken salad –just as tasty as it was beautiful. You know you are in the presence of a fantastic cook when she says, “It was just….” Yes, of course. They had a big family of boys and now a passel of grandchildren. She is probably the most experienced cook I know.
Jim is as involved in church work as John ever was. I don’t know all that he does, but he takes care of finances, produces the bulletin, and took a phone call about grounds maintenance while we were there. I enjoyed hearing his praise of a Baptist preacher who has coordinated charity work in the community. The man has a database that other ministers plug into showing names, amounts of money involved, and what was given to people.
The little toy camera was determined not to miss out on the action. Carolyn groaned, that being the classic reaction to the appearance of a camera. She followed it with a brilliant remark. She said, “I might not like my picture today, but in three years, I’ll love it.” I have the feeling I’m going to quote that many times. One of the triplets took a photo of the four of us.
John, Anne, Jim, and Carolyn
We had to head home, because John was slated to do the chanting for our mid-week service. We traveled at a lovely time of day. Tennessee’s interstate highways were all lined with miss-named redbud trees. The sun made the lavender blooms glow against a dark green background of evergreen trees.
We were with friends who have known each other for 68 years. I realized they have known me longer than anyone else on earth, aside from my brother. That is history! There are others who fit that description, and we wished they could have been there. We sat in Linda’s living room and let the memories pour out. After an hour, I thought I was on overload. How could I remember all the things we talked about? I couldn’t, but I can share a story or so.
We were last together in 2012. Since then, Linda went to the brink of death and back, and that’s what I wanted to know about. The president of our (public) high school class sent out a call for prayer for her. That’s part of having grown up in the South, something I took for granted until I moved north. This group will talk openly about faith. We got reports about her having an aneurysm in the brain and surviving the surgery. She didn’t mind talking about it and described how she woke up feeling odd. It was only two months after the death of her husband. Her children rallied around to care for her until she was back on her feet. She remembers only sketchy things about those first days. She knew the surgeon was going to try to repair things in the middle of her brain and was told many people don’t survive the surgery. If they live through it, there could be great damage. Linda says her inherited stubbornness made her determined to be a survivor. She came through that well, only to find out there were two more aneurysms nearer the skull that were subsequently operated on. Becky said she went to the hospital during the first round, and Linda remembered seeing her there. If I hadn’t been told of this near catastrophe, I would never had guessed it by seeing her now.
I wrote recently about the Arp Consolidated school near my hometown, and I found that Becky had a connection to it, as well. Back in the 60’s she was assigned to teach there for a couple of years. She had followed in her parents’ footsteps. Her mother was the home bound teacher, going to children’s homes when they couldn’t go to school. There were children needing long-term help, as well as those with a broken leg or temporary impairment. Her dad was the principal of one of the schools in the area.
Becky mentioned that her grandfather had been a circuit rider – a Methodist minister who rode about an area having church services in places where there was no organized church. She wondered aloud if he had ridden a horse. We all agreed he must have. In the recent past, she was invited to speak at a church where her granddad had served. No one was old enough to remember him, but it was a very special occasion for her.
I didn’t know Linda and husband William had an antique business for years. They had a booth, and later more than one, in an antique mall. We were glad to have an expert with us as we walked through this shop. Her house is full of beautiful antiques, lots of clocks, and untold numbers of old books that William wanted to own. Linda said they first learned the value of things from books and experience, since that was before the Google age. I thought the experience part was amusing. Linda said if a group of people came in and one snatched up a piece before the others could see it, she knew for certain that it was valuable.
Restaurant inside an antique store
I was grateful most of my stories seemed to end up where I wanted them to. There was a bathroom incident that shook me up for a few seconds. Becky found a restaurant for us that was in the middle of an antique shop. The door to the ladies’ restroom was a front door with an oval insert of glass. I locked the door and thought nothing more of it until I was half undressed on the inside. Eek! Can people see me? I waved a hand to make sure it was a mirror and not clear glass. This probably would not have occurred to me if I didn’t have recurring nightmares about bathrooms that are not very private. You are privy to my secret. I expect to see this one again in a dream someday (or night).
Becky noticed signs for coconut cake, denoting it was something special there. Before we ordered lunch, she told the waitress we’d share one piece for dessert. From experience, I knew to cover my clean knife with my hand as my lunch plate was removed. The cake was divvied up, and we dug in.
The afternoon ended too soon. If we had stayed longer though, I feel precious memories would have been shooting into the air for lack of storage space.
For various reasons, I planned to see all but one of my college roommates in a space of seven days. The first was Minna Gwyn in our home, and the next was Bonnie in her home in Nashville. I’m kicking myself for not getting the obligatory photo of Bonnie, but just imagine a most gracious Southern lady with a marvelous sense of fun. That would be your best image of her. She is one you feel instantly at ease with. If she knows you, and you’re still alive, she will say only good things about you. Let’s cut to the dirt. Bonnie had read that John told a funny story to Minna about a very poor music history teacher. She wanted to know, was that Mr. S.? It was. Bonnie probably ran into him more often than the rest of us, so that’s where we began our visit. I had Googled his name and found that he was ten years older than John and that he died at age 57, survived only by his mother. We don’t remember how long he stayed at our college, but mercifully it wasn’t long. Bonnie’s word for him was incompetent. That’s the most vicious word she would say against him.
We caught up on pleasant news of others, during which I discovered my serious conversational flaw. I let things drop, lacking a clincher sentence. I began telling about a fellow from my home town, but I never made the final statement that he ended up performing with someone we all admired at college. It was like telling a joke without the punch line. I never could tell a joke, and now it has spread to general conversation. If that isn’t cured now, it will only get worse. Any suggestions? Duct tape is the first option.
With John away, I didn’t expect to see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. There would be no need to be alert, watching out for April Fool pranks. Should I blame Mother Nature for what I saw today?
A little dead snake was in my path as I returned from walking to the stop sign. It was not there yesterday. Surely it’s too early for snakes! We’ve had temperatures only a few degrees above freezing in the last week. It couldn’t have been put there to scare me. Anyone who knows me, is aware that I don’t dread snakes. We won’t discuss spiders here. Twins, only one of whom might see this, once planted a dead spider from the train park in the trunk of my car. We are once again on speaking terms.
I took a photo of the snake, with my foot for a size comparison, and slithered on home. No other surprises have been forthcoming.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 